


Something to Talk About

by SerotoninShift



Series: The Most Exciting Thing I'd Ever Known [7]
Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: (offscreen and implied), BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 16:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18996592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninShift/pseuds/SerotoninShift
Summary: Fifty-seven doesn't like working in the Skylark's "back room." It always gets weird.





	Something to Talk About

**Author's Note:**

> Let's give them something to talk about  
> A little mystery to figure out  
> ~Bonnie Raitt

Number Fifty-seven hates being put on “back room duty.” It always gets weird. Last time, some freak in a hockey uniform, complete with mask, came in and bought nine blow-up dolls. _Nine._ But, dealing with weirdos is sometimes the price you gotta pay for being a Skylark. People expect certain things from the most sophisticated and discreet hotel in Motorcity. Fifty-seven takes a long swig of his seltzer water, pulls the chair up to the counter so he can sit with his feet up, and waits to see what kind of horror show today will bring him.

It’s quiet for the first part of his shift. Sometimes you get a lull; that’s always nice. Fifty-seven is playing chess against the computer when the bell on the door dings for the first time in hours. Fifty-seven looks up. A tall, gawky blonde kid, maybe twenty tops, is standing shyly just inside the door, looking around with a sort of wide-eyed expression like he’s never seen a dildo before.

Great. Fifty-seven _definitely_ didn’t sign up to be a sex-ed instructor. “Can I help you?” he says gruffly.

“Do you…” The guy’s voice is way too high-pitched. He coughs, clears his throat, tries again.

“Do you, uh. What kind of bondage gear do you have?” he asks. “I need something pretty heavy-duty.”

Fifty-seven blinks.

“L-like,” the guy stammers, “you know. If I wanted to tie up someone who was. Really good at escaping. And also fighting. Like, I have _fought_ this guy before, and he is _great_ at fighting. Wow, he’s really, like, athletic and stuff. And I just need something that. He can’t get out of, you know? Because he said he was gonna try for real this time and uh. You probably don’t want details. I just need something super-durable, is all.”

There's a long pause. Fifty-seven stares at the guy. The guy frowns thoughtfully.

" _Really_ super-durable," he says. He thinks some more.

“I’m gonna need a gag, too,” he says. “And uh. One of those things. The flat things. With the holes. For hitting people.”

“A paddle?” Fifty-seven says, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah! That!”

“Man,” Fifty-seven says, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

The guy giggles, long and high-pitched and on the edge of hysterical.

“Hell _no!”_ he says cheerfully. “But I’m gonna do it anyway!” He takes a deep breath, straightens. “I also need your most serious nipple clamps. And lube. The _good_ kind,” he says with dignity.

Fifty-seven eventually sends him out the door loaded down with cuffs, a spreader bar, more rope than he probably really needs (he insisted on it), and various other things that Fifty-seven is dubious about _anyone_ using in combination, much less _this_ guy. Fifty-seven slips a copy of “The Art of Domination: A Beginner’s Guide” into the guy’s bag, _gratis,_ when he’s not looking. The poor sap is probably going to need all the help he can get.

***

It’s only an hour before his shift ends when the second guy comes in; another young guy, dark skin, dark hair, muscular in a way that pings Fifty-seven as military. He looks kind of familiar, but Fifty-seven can’t immediately place him.

“Uh, hey!” the guy says, half shy and half cheerful, and gives Fifty-seven a little wave. He walks up to the counter and taps his fingers on it for a second, looking around. Fifty-seven waits him out.

“So!” he says finally, reaching into his pocket and slapping a piece of paper on the countertop. “I have a list. I was doing some intranet research and I knew I wasn’t gonna remember all this, so I wrote it down.”

“Okay.” Fifty-seven picks up the list. “LUBE” is written in all caps at the top, underlined, and circled.

Next on the list is “Nipple clamps???” Three question marks. Next up: “Paddle (what kind??)” Then: “Handcuffs (can I break? Maybe cheap ones).” It goes on, but Fifty-seven stops reading. He puts the list down.

“Do you have a blonde friend?” he asks. “Real tall, skinny, longish hair?”

The guy wrinkles his forehead. “Yeah, I might… know someone who fits that description?”

Fifty-seven leans on the counter. “Let me give you some advice,” he says. “Check in with him before you buy anything. I think he’s got you covered.”

“What… oh! Was he already… _oh.”_ The guy’s already dark skin blushes darker.

“Yeah. And for god’s sake,” Fifty-seven says, “go easy on him, okay? Don’t bust those cuffs, he didn’t get the cheap ones.”

 _“Oh,”_ the guy says, blushing even harder. “Well! I’ll just…” he gestures at the door. “I’ll just get out of your hair then. I’m gonna go and. Yeah.”

Fifty-seven shakes his head. “Have a good time,” he says, “and don’t hurt yourself.”

The guy is backing up toward the door, but he stops for a second, breaks into a little cheeky grin. “Hurting _myself_ wouldn’t be nearly as much fun,” he says.

Fifty-seven barks out a startled laugh as the guy turns on his heel and walks out the door, head up, eyes glinting with excitement.

Fifty-seven shakes his head again and goes back to his chess game. He really doesn’t like getting put on “back room duty.” But sometimes, just sometimes, it’s good for a laugh.


End file.
